


Lunatics

by edna_blackadder



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-09
Updated: 2009-11-09
Packaged: 2017-12-07 08:23:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/746383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edna_blackadder/pseuds/edna_blackadder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley inadvertently inspires a rock legend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lunatics

**Author's Note:**

> The song lyrics were, of course, written by the rock legend in question. Thanks to sarcasticsra for the beta.

‘It’s…er…rather loud in here, isn’t it?’ Aziraphale asked after a while, when he and Crowley had both been through a pint and half.

Crowley shrugged. The mostly young clientele were indeed loud, and many of them were drunk, though none of them were half as drunk as he and Aziraphale wanted to be.1 ‘That’s the idea. I didn’t want to hear myself think.’

Aziraphale patted his arm sympathetically. ‘That bad?’

‘Worse. I don’t think Dagon has even been to Earth. What about you? How was Gabriel?’

Aziraphale hesitated, searching for a suitably diplomatic adjective. Really, the archangel was only doing his job, and he hadn’t been as…difficult as Michael. ‘Professional,’ he said finally.

Crowley laughed. ‘In other words, you need something stronger than that.’

‘Really, my dear—’

‘Give me a break, angel, I’ve met Gabriel.’ Crowley blinked, and their glasses refilled, this time with something that definitely wasn’t beer. After a long drink, he added, ‘I just spent who knows how long2 answering questions about conflicts that sprung up entirely without my help. I’m still not entirely clear on which sides I’m supposed to be on.’

‘I was reprimanded for some of those,’ said Aziraphale morosely. ‘I had been trying to promote peace, but it seems that Heaven has some stake in these things as well.’

Crowley nodded. ‘They weren’t exactly interested when I tried to explain rock ‘n’ roll.’

‘Beg pardon?’ asked Aziraphale, and Crowley’s answering grin was suspiciously snake-like.

‘Stick around long enough and you’ll see.’ Crowley waved a hand, and their glasses refilled.

Aziraphale drank deeply, then groaned as the noise of the crowd became louder. ‘What have you got me into, Crowley?’

‘Nothing that’ll discorporate you.’ Crowley’s eyes drifted to the stage, where the band had arrived and begun setting up.

Aziraphale followed his gaze, then gave him a stern look. ‘First Gabriel and now Devil’s music? Really, my dear.’

‘It’s not the music I’ve had a hand in, it’s the lifestyle. It’s a long way from celestial hymns, though.’

Aziraphale was not yet drunk enough to admit that this was a relief, so he simply shook his head and returned his attention to his drink. But Crowley seemed to know what his lack of response meant, if his widening grin was any indication.

The noise at the stage became louder. The band were apparently having an argument. The singer swore loudly, and Crowley, enjoying Aziraphale’s shocked expression, waved one hand in the general direction of an amplifier. It short-circuited. Now the guitarist was swearing, and the crowd was getting dangerously rowdy with impatience.

Aziraphale, who felt that Crowley looked far too pleased with himself, said huffily, ‘That was low, my dear.’

Crowley shook his head. ‘You don’t know these guys. They were going to smash it anyway.’

‘I meant bringing me here. I know you. You’re just showing off, now.’

Crowley drained his glass, then said, ‘I couldn’t help it. After what I went through today, I had to show somebody.’

Aziraphale shook his head, and with a snap of his fingers, healed the problem equipment and, very slightly, improved it.3 He couldn’t really be angry at Crowley, not when his own superiors were similarly frustrating. He sighed and drank some more. ‘You realise you’re paying for this,’ he said finally, after Crowley refilled their glasses yet again. ‘After bringing me to a place like this after what I went through today, it’s the very least you can do.’

Crowley had to admit that Aziraphale had a point, and was glad that they would both probably be too drunk to remember it by the end of the night. Then the music started. ‘Shh,’ said Crowley needlessly.

One hour later Crowley applauded enthusiastically. It had been a very good show, especially the very expensive destruction at the end, and Aziraphale, who had not enjoyed it one bit, was completely plastered. ‘Crowley…’ he started, in a tone that would have been accusatory if not for the slurring, ‘I’ll never…forgive you…’

Crowley reached across the table and placed his hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders. ‘You’ve got to admit, it’s more interesting than hymns. It’s certainly more interesting than the endless screams of the damned. They’ve got…they’ve got style, humans. Not stuck in the fourteenth century like Heaven and Hell.’

Crowley continued impugning both Above and Below, over Aziraphale’s weak protests. Unbeknownst to both of them, the rock group’s bassist, who did not get quite the same thrill out of destroying thousands of pounds’ worth of equipment that his bandmates did, was standing off to the side and had been listening to them for several minutes. They were lunatics, of course, but he liked lunatics. They inspired him.

When Crowley returned to the club the following week, the band had a new opening number. The first verse made him uneasy, especially the way the singer4 seemed to be looking directly at him. The second verse was positively eerie.

‘In the place up above, you grow feather wings and you fly ’round and ’round, with a harp singing hymns,’ the singer practically growled. ‘And down in the ground you grow horns and a tail and you carry a fork, and moan and wail. Why can’t we have eternal life, and never die?’

Angels may not play harps, and demons may not use pitchforks, but nonetheless Crowley felt that these particular humans had come far too close to the truth for his liking. He was suddenly very glad that Dagon had been so unappreciative of rock ‘n’ roll. He didn’t need this traced back to him.

1They couldn’t be. That would kill them.  
2The time in Hell is always Too Late. It cannot be quantified further than that.  
3Before, the amp’s maximum volume was ten. Now it went up to eleven.  
4Who in this case was the bassist, who sang his own compositions, although the group’s lead singer maintained microphone-swinging duties. 


End file.
